


Death, Dessert, and Dentistry (But Not Necessarily In That Order)

by glamourtentia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, M/M, Midnight Smack, Vampire AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 19:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16435127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glamourtentia/pseuds/glamourtentia
Summary: “This is weird.”“Which part?”“You being a dentist.”“Right,that’swhat’s weird here. Now shut up and open tall, Potter, I need to see your fangs.”





	Death, Dessert, and Dentistry (But Not Necessarily In That Order)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Josta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josta/gifts).



> for [riley](http://jostafarian.tumblr.com), whom i hate. he's done a lot of very cool vampire!harry/dentist!draco art, [go check it out on tumblr dot com](https://jostaart.tumblr.com/tagged/art%20post)!!
> 
> (i'll do an actual summary later probably but. summaries are hard)

“This is weird.”

Malfoy glances over at Harry and arches an eyebrow. “Which part?”

Harry gestures to Malfoy’s pale blue robes and the latex gloves he’s tugging on. “You being a dentist.”

Malfoy snorts. “Right, _that’s_ what’s weird here.” He pulls on a surgical mask and leans over Harry where he’s partially reclined in an unnervingly ordinary dentist’s chair. “Now shut up and open tall, Potter, I need to see your fangs.”

Harry somewhat reluctantly opens his mouth and lets Malfoy probe at his fangs and teeth with latex-covered fingertips, then with delicate metal tools. “Remind me how long you’ve been a vampire?” Malfoy asks, with his hands still in Harry’s mouth, because of fucking course he’s _that_ kind of dentist.

“Abouh thicth month,” Harry tries his best to say anyway. Malfoy tuts and withdraws, leaving Harry annoyed that he didn’t just wait three more seconds to ask.

“You really should’ve been in to see me sooner. Vampires should normally see a qualified dentist as soon after turning as possible, you know,” Malfoy informs him. Harry did not know that, but he nods anyway, and Malfoy continues. “You’re not too bad off, though. I’d normally expect to see some bloodstaining after six months without professional dental attention, but you’ve only relatively normal plaque and iron buildup.”

Harry makes a face as Malfoy turns to switch out tools. “I have a toothbrush, you know.”

It’s hard to tell, but Harry’s pretty sure Malfoy is smirking behind his mask. “Very impressive, Potter. I’ll make sure Lisa gives you one of the big boy prizes on your way out.”

“I hate you.”

“I know, Potter. Open up again and behave while I clean your teeth or I’ll take away your prize.”

The next twenty minutes or so while Malfoy cleans Harry’s teeth are silent but for the inane pop music drifting quietly through the office. Now that they’re not sniping at each other, Malfoy’s totally focussed on his task, grey eyes fixed on Harry’s fangs and teeth as he works at them with painstaking care. It hurts a little in the same way dentist appointments always do, but Malfoy is unerringly precise and surprisingly gentle, so it’s not altogether the worst experience of Harry’s life.

Eventually Malfoy pulls back with a satisfied hum. “All right, Potter, you’re all done.” He pulls off his gloves and then his mask and tosses them into the rubbish bin, and when he turns back to Harry he’s visibly pleased.

“What is it?” Harry asks, a little nervous, as he gets up out of the chair.

“What’s what?”

“You just look… I dunno, happy.” _You better not have painted my fucking fangs green or something —_

Malfoy raises his eyebrows. “I’m good at my chosen profession and I like doing it. Those two facts occasionally grant me fleeting moments of satisfaction in between my old school nemeses turning into vampires and then taking half a fucking year to come see me, the foremost expert on nonhuman humanoid dental care, about it.”

“Jesus, sorry I asked,” Harry mutters, rubbing at his forehead. Great, now he’s got a headache. “Do I pay up front?”

“Yes, that’ll do. You’ll want to schedule a followup appointment with Lisa on your way out as well. Three months.”

Harry’s stomach sinks. “Really? That soon?”

“Vampires need more regular dental care than mere humans, Potter, I’m sure you can understand why.” Malfoy leans back against the counter and folds his arms, looking bored. “You could see someone other than me, of course, but I wouldn’t recommend it. I’m the best at what I do, objectively speaking, and I know you can afford me, so there’s really no reason to go elsewhere.”

“Other than the obvious,” Harry grumbles.

One side of Malfoy’s mouth quirks up into a smile. “Other than the obvious,” he agrees. He unfolds his arms and extends a hand to Harry. “See you, Potter.”

Harry hesitates a moment, but then reaches out and takes Malfoy’s hand. It’s too warm in the same way all human hands have been since Harry was turned, but Malfoy’s shake is firm and professional. “Yeah, see you, Malfoy.”

“Dr. Malfoy,” Malfoy corrects him, smirking again when Harry rolls his eyes.

Harry makes his way back to Lisa at the front desk to pay and schedule a followup. Just as he’s finishing paying, Lisa’s intercom beeps, and she pauses to answer it. “Yes, Dr. Malfoy?”

Malfoy’s voice crackles over the intercom. “Lisa, please make sure that Mr. Potter gets a prize before he leaves. He was very good today.”

Someone in the waiting room behind Harry cackles loudly, and he twists around to glare at a troll lounging across three of the waiting room chairs, who just gives him an unapologetic, sharp-toothed grin. When he turns back to Lisa she’s got on as straight a face as ever, and he’s glad that at least _someone_ here is a fucking professional.

“Mr. Potter? Would you like a prize?”

“Yeah, you know what? Yeah, I would.” Harry tries not to scowl at Lisa, because it’s not her fault and she’s just doing her job. “As my prize, could you please inform Dr. Malfoy that he’s a horrible dentist with bad taste in music and I’m never coming back?”

Lisa looks a bit alarmed, but she obligingly presses the intercom button and leans over slightly to speak into it. “Er, Dr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter would like me to inform you that you’re a horrible dentist with bad taste in music and he’s never coming back.”

Malfoy, the absolute bastard, _laughs_. It’s a genuine, almost charming sort of laugh, and it only irritates Harry further. “Sure, Potter,” Malfoy says, clearly very amused. “See you in three months.” The intercom clicks off.

Lisa looks back up at Harry with a little frown. “Would you like me to cancel your followup appointment, Mr. Potter?”

Harry just stands there fuming for a few seconds, his hands balled into fists. “No,” he finally grinds out. “Thanks, Lisa.”

“Have a good day, Mr. Potter,” Lisa says politely, and turns to the troll. “Dr. Malfoy will see you now, Miss Serket…” Her voice fades as Harry storms out of the office.

Three months isn’t nearly long enough.

 

***

 

A few weeks later, already back in that chair again, Harry would’ve killed for three months.

“You do realize I said three _months_ , Potter, not three weeks?” Malfoy says with a smirk that makes Harry sort of want to punch him in the face.

“I know,” Harry says sourly. “But I think I chipped my fang or something the other day.”

Malfoy’s smirk is replaced with a frown. “That’s unlikely. Your fangs should be much more resilient than regular human teeth.”

“Well, it’s been hurting like hell, so _something’s_ got to be wrong,” Harry says defensively.

“I’m not saying there’s nothing wrong,” Malfoy says, holding his hands up. “I’m just saying it’s probably not a chipped fang, but I believe you that it hurts. I’ll take a look.”

“Thanks,” Harry mutters. He settles back into the chair as Malfoy pulls on his gloves with a loud snap, which Harry’s pretty sure is unnecessary and just Malfoy’s way of trying to be intimidating, or possibly look cool. Neither succeeds, in Harry’s opinion.

“Open tall.” Malfoy moves the overhead light so it’s directly over Harry’s open mouth and leans in closer, probing at Harry’s fangs with gentle fingers. After a moment, his eyebrows knit together. “Hm.” He pulls back, obviously frowning.

“What?” Harry asks, suddenly afraid that all of his teeth have somehow fallen out without his noticing. “What is it?”

Malfoy just stares down at him for a long and awkward few seconds before sighing and admitting, “You have a chipped fang.”

“I have a — I _knew_ it!” Harry exclaims triumphantly. “I fucking knew it! I _told_ you!”

“Don’t be so excited, Potter, it’s a fucking bad thing,” Malfoy snaps. “How did you even fucking manage to chip a fang to begin with? That should be practically impossible.”

“I, er.” Harry scratches uncomfortably at his neck. “I accidentally bit a rock.”

“You accidentally…” Malfoy trails off, staring at Harry with disbelief. “How did you even — never mind, I don’t care,” he says, shaking his head. “Merlin, Potter, you’re a fucking idiot.”

Harry grimaces, but knows he doesn’t have much room to argue in this specific case. “Can you fix it or not?”

Malfoy purses his lips. “Yes, but it won’t be quick or easy. Or cheap.”

“That’s fine,” Harry says immediately. “Just do it.”

“Well, I can’t right _now_ ,” Malfoy says, rolling his eyes. “I’ve another patient in thirty minutes. This will take an hour at least. You’ll need to talk to Lisa about coming back in another time.”

Harry groans and drops his face into his hands. “I was really looking forward to not having to see you for another three months, Malfoy.”

“Then I suppose you shouldn’t have bitten a fucking rock.”

 

***

 

Malfoy’s able to get Harry back in just two days later, which Harry’s admittedly grateful for. So much so that he decides to try and actually be friendly or something to Malfoy.

It does not go very well. “Seriously, why do you always have this shite playing?”

Malfoy immediately halts his fang-fixing preparations and gives Harry an incredulous look. “First off, it’s not shite. Fucking _everyone_ likes Gnarly Wraith Jepsen, Potter, and if you don’t then _you’re_ the odd man out.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. And second?”

“Second?”

“Yeah, you said _first off_ , so what’s second off?”

Malfoy glares at Harry. “Second off, shut the fuck up and let me fix your stupid fang before I kick you out of here for being an absolute twat with the worst taste in the fucking world.”

Harry can’t hold back his grin. “Wow, Dr. Malfoy, whatever happened to bedside manner?”

“You forfeit your rights to bedside manner when you insult your dentist’s music. You should consider yourself lucky I don’t fucking take away your anaesthetic for that,” Malfoy mutters irritably as he fills a syringe with clear liquid. “I’m going to stab you hard with it, though, so at least I’ll have that.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” Harry says, but the warning does him little good when suddenly Malfoy whirls around and jabs the needle right into Harry’s gums. “Ow! Fucking hell, Malfoy, was that really necessary?”

“Yes,” Malfoy replies, looking quite a bit happier. “All right. Magical anaesthetic works faster than Muggle anaesthetic, so it should have set in already. Has it?”

Harry realizes he already can’t feel half of his mouth anymore, so he nods. “Yeah, I think tho,” he says, and is embarrassed when it comes out sort of slurred and strange-sounding thanks to his numb mouth. Malfoy doesn’t point it out, technically, but his smirk is mockery enough.

“Right then. Let’s get you fixed up.”

With his wand in one hand and a terrifyingly unfamiliar tool in the other, Malfoy dives wholeheartedly into his work, intent and almost entirely silent. About thirty minutes in he starts humming along to the music overhead, and Harry gives him the most dramatic eyeroll he can muster. Malfoy’s eyes immediately flick from Harry’s fang up to his eyes, and he rolls his eyes right back. “My fucking office, Potter, I can do what I want.”

Harry tries to retort, but Malfoy cuts him off with an extra-hard poke at a spot that’s not quite fully numb, and Harry grimaces. “Worth dentith err,” he says around Malfoy’s fingers and the dead weight of his tongue. Malfoy laughs and goes back to humming.

It takes nearly another hour, but then finally, _finally_ , Malfoy is moving away and pulling his gloves and mask off. “There you go. All done.”

“It’th ficthed?” Harry says, a little surprised. He reaches up and tentatively pokes at his fang with a fingertip, and when it does indeed feel back to normal he’s flooded with relief.

“As if you’d never chomped down on an actual rock.”

“I told you, it wath an acthident,” Harry reminds him, pushing his glasses up his nose sheepishly as he gets out of the chair and to his feet.

“Whatever you say, Potter,” Malfoy says with one of those disarmingly content smiles that always makes Harry feel a little bit off-kilter for some reason. Then the smile curves into a more familiar smirk, and he taps the corner of his mouth. “You’re drooling a bit.”

Harry’s hand flies to his mouth and he’s horrified to find that he is, indeed, drooling a bit. He wipes it away quickly and tries to act like he somehow isn’t absolutely fucking mortified. “Well,” he says, and can’t think of anything else to say.

Malfoy’s still smirking, because of course he is, but it’s a little bit gentler. “Perfectly normal after anaesthesia. It’ll wear off by the time you get home, I promise.”

“Right.” Harry rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Er, thankth. For the fang thing, I mean.”

“You’re welcome,” Malfoy says, almost pleasantly. “Now, you’ll need to come back in another week or so — ”

“ _Theriouthly_?”

“Don’t be such a fucking baby, Potter. It’ll be a quick one, I promise. I just need to apply some Fang Fortification Formula to make sure this doesn’t happen again, but it needs a bit to make sure it sets correctly first.”

“Why didn’t you give me the Fang — whatever the firtht time I came in?”

Malfoy gives Harry an exasperated look. “Well, Potter, that would be because I usually only have to use it on adolescent vampires.”

“Oh,” Harry says, very embarrassed. “Well. Okay.”

“ _As_ I was saying, you’ll need to come back in about a week. Until then you should be all right to eat and drink fairly normally, but I’d still be careful of drinking anything cold or eating anything hard. No rocks, all right?”

“Hilarious. I hate you.”

“I know, Potter.”

 

***

 

As promised, Harry’s next appointment is quick and relatively painless. Malfoy’s Fang Formulation Formula, which he proudly informs Harry that he invented himself, tastes like absolute shite.

“Thith thuckth,” he says around Malfoy’s fingers.

“You fucking drink blood,” Malfoy points out, rolling his eyes. “You can handle this.”

“Blood actually _tastes_ good, though,” Harry grouses as Malfoy pulls back to load up on more of the formula. “Seriously, can you make this shite in like, B negative flavour or something?”

“Tell you what, Potter. You become an expert in nonhuman humanoid dental care and invent a groundbreaking formula that helps young vampires transition more painlessly into using their fangs, and you can make it taste however you’d like.” Malfoy brandishes his paste brush in front of Harry’s face, and he can _smell_ the foul medical stench. “Now shut up. The more you talk, the longer this will take.”

As he applies the paste to Harry’s other fang, a strand of Malfoy’s just-too-long hair slips down into his eyes. It brushes slowly across his face, catching on his eyelashes, but he doesn’t seem to notice it until it reaches his nose. He lifts one arm up and uses the back of his wrist to push the hair back, then returns to his work, only for it to slip down again a moment later. He sighs and withdraws his hands from Harry’s mouth, pulling a glove off one hand so he can reach up and run his pale fingers through his hair to smooth it back.

Something odd flutters in Harry’s stomach. “You should get a haircut,” he says, because he feels like he needs to say _something_ and that probably wasn’t it, he doesn’t even think he _means_ that, because Malfoy’s hair actually looks sort of soft and pleasant and the gentle waves of it are sort of nice to look at.

Malfoy just scoffs. “Oh, you’re one to talk, Boy Who Never Had A Good Hair Day In His Fucking Life,” he says as he pulls his glove back on, and then he’s right back to work before Harry can respond with something probably really stupid about Malfoy being the Boy Who Never Had A Bad Hair Day In His Fucking Life.

Just a few minutes later Malfoy’s finished and packing up the nuclear waste paste. Harry sits up in the chair and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, as if that’ll help it taste any less fucking awful. “You really give _kids_ this stuff?”

“Yes, and not a one of them has ever whined about it so much as you have.”

Harry is about to retort, but then Malfoy turns back to face him and pulls his mask off, revealing a smile and mussing the hair he’d managed to smooth back earlier. It falls down into his eyes, and he reaches up to idly flick it back. Harry’s mouth is suddenly inexplicably dry, and he can’t for the unlife of him remember what it was he was wanting to say.

Malfoy pauses, like he’s waiting for the response Harry was trying to give, but when Harry’s mouth just opens and closes wordlessly Malfoy shrugs and says, “Anyway, come see me again if you have any problems with it, but it should be good as new. Don’t do anything stupid and we might actually make it the full three months this time.”

“I’ll do my best,” Harry says, still a little off-balance and newly distracted by the realization that three months seems like kind of a long time. “Uh, have a good one, Malfoy.”

“Dr. Malfoy,” Malfoy says. Harry punches him in the arm. Malfoy laughs.

Harry’s late to his weekly outing with Ginny. By the time he gets to the coffee shop they always meet in on Wednesdays at four, she’s already halfway through her chai latte, and his usual bloodmalt is in front of the empty chair across from her.

“Sorry I’m late, Gin,” he says guiltily as he drops into the chair. “Thanks for ordering for me.”

“No worries,” Ginny replies with a shrug. “I just hope it’s still...whatever temperature it’s supposed to be.”

Harry takes a big gulp of the malt to try and wash away the taste of Malfoy’s horrible formula and is immediately relieved. He takes another, slower pull of it and lets out a sigh of bliss. “Yeah, that’s the shit. God, I love B negative.”

“Gross.”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” Harry says with a grin, baring his fangs teasingly. Ginny makes a face, but smiles back.

“Someone’s in a good mood today.”

“Huh? Yeah, I guess so,” Harry replies absently, taking another long sip of his bloodmalt.

Ginny swirls her tea around in her cup and gives him a curious look. “What’s his name, then?”

Harry stops drinking and gives Ginny a confused look. “What’s whose name?”

“The bloke who’s got you all chipper on a fucking Wednesday. Perhaps having something to do with why you were late?”

“What? No!” Harry protests, taken aback. “It’s not like that! There isn’t anyone, I swear.”

Ginny doesn’t look convinced. “Where were you just now, then?”

“I was at the _dentist_ , Gin.”

Ginny stares at him for a few long seconds. Then she shakes her head and sighs. “Sometimes I really can’t believe I ever thought you were cool. Anyway, did you catch the game last night?”

 

***

 

“What on earth could you  _possibly_ have done this time, Potter?” Malfoy demands when Harry’s back in the chair just a week later.

“Nothing!” Harry says defensively. “I didn’t do anything stupid. I just, uh. I think I have, er, teeth hurting problems?”

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. “You mean a toothache?”

Harry wants to die again. “Uh, yeah. A toothache. That’s the word.” He offers Malfoy a sheepish smile. Malfoy rolls his eyes and heaves a sigh of long-suffering, but he doesn’t really seem that put out. Probably because of the insane amounts of money Harry is paying him.

“Merlin, Potter, you _are_ stupid. Let’s see those hurting teeth, then.”

 

***

 

A couple of weeks later Harry thinks he might have chipped a regular tooth. A week after that, he’s pretty sure he has a cavity. Then he needs more of that special toothpaste Malfoy gave him for his toothache.

Each time he goes back to Malfoy’s office, Harry tells himself it’ll be the last time before his scheduled cleaning. And then, inevitably, a few days later, he’ll find something new to worry about, and he tells himself it’s better safe than sorry, there’s no such thing as too much dental care.

“You know, there _is_ such thing as too much dental care, Harry,” Hermione tells him over butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks. “It probably isn’t a good idea to go to the dentist for every tiny thing.”

“Yeah, especially since it’s, y’know, Malfoy,” Ron puts in. “He’s probably _causing_ the problems every time you go just so you’ll have to come back and spend more money. Git’s going to bleed you dry.” Ron pauses, then adds, more a question than a statement, “No offense?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “None taken. But he’s not doing that, he’s just doing his job. I’m going in of my own free will, guys.”

“That’s even worse!” Ron exclaims. “Why would you _want_ to go in and see Malfoy?”

“I don’t _want_ to,” Harry protests. “I just figure, I’m new to the whole fangs thing, and whatever other vampire shite is relevant, so like. I just want to make sure everything’s all good, you know?” He taps on one of his fangs and smiles reassuringly. “Now can we talk about something else?”

Ron looks like he wants to press the subject, but Hermione cuts in before he can. “Have either of you heard from Neville lately? Last he wrote me he was getting on well with that magizoologist Scamander, making all kinds of new discoveries and the like.”

They easily get carried away in conversation about what their old school friends are up to. Ron chokes on his butterbeer when Harry informs him that Seamus has taken up nude modeling, and quickly excuses himself to the loo “to clean up and/or vomit.” Harry and Hermione laugh and clink their glasses together.

“Oh, hang on, I need…” Hermione opens her bottomless bag and reaches into it to start digging around. As Harry waits he sips his butterbeer and hums absently to himself. All of a sudden Hermione’s hand pauses and she looks up at Harry quizzically. “Is that _Firecall Me Perhaps_?”

It takes Harry a second to process the question, and then a couple more seconds to realize that, yeah, it definitely was. “Uh. I guess,” he says, scratching at his neck awkwardly.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” Hermione tells him, looking amused. “Everyone likes Gnarly Wraith Jepsen. I just didn’t know you did.”

“Neither did I,” Harry mutters, and an uncomfortable realization starts to dawn on him.

 

***

 

“I think I like Gnarly Wraith Jepsen now,” Harry tells Malfoy the next time he’s in for a suspected cavity. Malfoy’s whole face lights up, and Harry tries very hard to ignore the way that fills his stomach with undead butterflies.

 

***

 

Harry’s scheduled followup cleaning arrives at last. Malfoy feigns surprise when he walks in and sees Harry in the chair.

“Merlin, Potter, has it been three months already? I feel like I just saw you the other day.”

“Har-har,” Harry says sarcastically, holding back a smile with a debatable degree of success. “I hate you.”

“I know, Potter.”

Malfoy cleans Harry’s teeth and fangs just as meticulously as he did the first time. He’s in an especially good mood today, Harry thinks, judging by how he occasionally sings quietly along to bits of the music overhead instead of just humming. Harry relaxes into the chair, gazing up at the light above him and watching the spots dance behind his eyelids every time he blinks.

“Almost done,” Malfoy murmurs eventually, pulling back and swapping out the tools he was using for others. “I just need to apply more Fang Fortification Formula, and then you should — and I emphasize _should_ , not _will_ — be set for another three months.”

“Sounds good,” Harry says, even though it doesn’t really. He’s already looked up _things that can be wrong with your teeth_ and is prepared to come back in for potential hyperdontia in a few weeks, or however long he can manage to wait.

“Although, honestly, Potter, I feel professionally obligated to tell you this — Ah, fuck. Wrong paste. Hang on.” Malfoy turns back to his cupboards and spends a minute shuffling through them, leaving Harry in a state of panic as he wonders what Malfoy could possibly be professionally obligated to tell him.

“There it is,” Malfoy says triumphantly. He comes back over and starts applying the paste to Harry’s fangs, humming to himself again as he does so.

Harry tries really, really hard to leave it be, but he’s so distracted that he barely even notices the foul taste of Malfoy’s horrible Fang Fortification Formula, and it’s not long before he caves. “What were you going to tell me?”

“Oh, right,” Malfoy says mildly, like he’d completely forgotten at no inconvenience to him. “It’s just that, while I certainly appreciate the exorbitant sums of money you’re spending on these obviously superfluous dental ruses, I do think your considerable funds would be better spent taking me on a proper date.”

Harry’s eyes widen and he almost chokes on his own tongue, but Malfoy’s firm hands keep him from being able to do much of anything. Malfoy doesn’t seem to be troubled by Harry’s reaction, just keeps applying the paste as he continues.

“It’s just — well, like I said, I really do appreciate your business, of course. But you really could be spending this money on, say, dinner at a nice restaurant, or front row seats at a musical, or… I don’t know, a custom ice cream flavour. I’m not that picky, honestly,” Malfoy says as he prods at Harry’s fangs, a look of total concentration on his face despite what he’s saying. “It just seems a shame we’ve been seeing each other so often in the same room where children cry when I tell them they need to floss more often. There we go. All done.”

Malfoy steps away and takes his gloves and mask off casually, like he didn’t just absolutely demolish Harry in every possible way. Harry sits up straight, suddenly feeling sort of dizzy and overheated. He stares at Malfoy, who’s now leaning back against the counter with his arms folded, looking expectant.

“Merlin. Okay, um.” Harry scrubs a hand through his hair, trying desperately to remember what words are. “Do you, uh. Malfoy. I mean, Dr. Malfoy. Draco?” he tries. Malfoy looks fucking thrilled as all hell, like this is the funniest thing he’s ever witnessed. Harry forces his way through. “D’you wanna go out with me sometime?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Malfoy replies with a smug grin. “Seriously. I didn’t think you’d ever do it. For a Gryffindor, you’re kind of a wuss, Potter.”

Harry scowls halfheartedly at him. “Is that a yes?”

“You’re still sitting in the chair children cry in.”

“Thought you weren’t picky,” Harry huffs as he gets out of the chair anyway.

“I’m not, but I have _standards_ ,” Malfoy says indignantly. Now that Harry’s standing, Malfoy seems a little more nervous, a little less sure of himself, and that helps Harry feel a little more in control of the situation.

“Right.” Harry steps closer until he’s almost bumping up against Malfoy’s folded arms. Malfoy’s gaze flickers down to Harry’s mouth, then back up to his eyes. Harry leans closer into his space and smiles when Malfoy swallows visibly.

“Draco, can I take you out on a date?”

Malfoy seems at a loss for a second, but quickly smirks. “Yes. When?”

Harry really hadn’t gotten that far yet — his best plan for seeing Malfoy again had been fucking _hyperdontia_ _—_  but he tries not to let his uncertainty show. “Friday night?”

Malfoy raises his eyebrows. “That’s in two days.”

“I know,” Harry says, even though he’d forgotten and only said Friday because that seemed like a good night for a first date. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. It’s just...soon.”

“I know,” Harry says again, and this time he means it. “That’s the point.”

Malfoy’s lips curve into a little smile. “All right.” He lifts a hand and shoves lightly at Harry’s chest. “You should go now, because I’d sort of like to kiss you, but I’m more of the end-of-the-first-date sort. Also, I _just_ put on that Fang Fortification Formula, and if it tastes as bad as you say I’d really rather wait.”

“Well, that’s your problem. I _told_ you you should make it taste better,” Harry reminds him, grinning.

“Never had a reason to before,” Malfoy mutters. He pushes a little more firmly. “Now get out of here, Potter, if you keep standing there all confident and close to me and whatever then I may not be able to help myself.”

“All right, all right,” Harry relents. He starts to back away, hesitates for a moment, then leans back in and kisses Malfoy on the cheek. He pulls back with an attempt at a casual grin that probably looks goofy, especially when he sees the way Malfoy’s face is growing pink. “Friday night?”

“Friday night,” Malfoy agrees, his voice sounding slightly strained. Harry’s grin widens, and he takes a few more steps back, until he runs into the chair behind him and almost falls over. Malfoy starts to laugh, and Harry quickly turns and hurries out of the room before he can say or do anything else stupid.

 

***

 

Harry wakes up on Friday morning with the terrible realization that he did, in fact, do something else stupid.

As always, when he calls into Malfoy’s office, Lisa answers the phone. “Dr. Malfoy’s office, Lisa speaking.”

“Hey, Lisa, it’s Harry. Uh, Harry Potter.”

“Mr. Potter,” Lisa says, and Harry can hear her already tapping away at her keyboard. “What seems to be the matter this time?”

“Nothing’s the matter, I just, er. Is — Could I talk to Malfoy? Er, Draco? Dr. Malfoy?” Harry covers the receiver of the phone with his hand and thumps his head against the wall.

“Dr. Malfoy is with another patient at the moment. Can I take a message?”

“Uh, sure, thanks.” Harry rubs his forehead and tries to think of what to say. “Can you tell him, um, that Harry called, and that I’m sorry to call him at work but I’m an idiot and I forgot to get his number, and that I was wondering if seven o’clock is okay for me to pick him up tonight? And that it’s dinner, so don’t eat beforehand, and, uh. That he can call me if any of that doesn’t work for him.”

“Is that all, Mr. Potter?” Lisa sounds as professional as ever. That woman never ceases to impress.

“Yeah, um, I think that’s all. Did you, er, did you get all that? Sorry, it was kind of a lot…”

“I believe I did. I’ll pass it along. Have a good day, Mr. Potter.”

“Thanks. And, um, you too.”

Harry hangs up and collapses face first onto his bed. “I. Am. So. Stupid,” he growls, his voice muffled by his blankets.

Twenty minutes later he’s in the middle of trying to drown his embarrassment in a too-hot shower when he gets a call, and he quickly shuts off the water and leans halfway out of the shower to grab his phone from the bathroom counter. He answers just after the second ring and immediately wishes he’d waited like five more fucking seconds so he didn’t seem like as much of an overeager idiot, but whatever.

“Hullo?”

“Potter? It’s Draco.”

“Draco, hey,” Harry says, simultaneously relieved and terrified, and very much wishing he weren’t naked. He tries to run his hand through his hair before remembering that there’s still shampoo lathered in it and Merlin’s arse this is the furthest fucking thing from being in control of the situation. “Did you, um. Did you get my message?”

“Indeed I did. I have a note here that says — ” Malfoy clears his throat. “Harry Potter, idiot, seven o’clock, don’t eat, call me.”

Harry resists the urge to thump his head against the wall again. “Oh, yeah. Great. That’s exactly what I said, verbatim. Excellent.”

Malfoy laughs. “This is just what Lisa wrote down. She did clarify most parts of it for me.”

“Only most?”

“She didn’t elaborate on the idiot bit, but I figured she didn’t really need to.”

Harry scoffs, glad that Malfoy can’t see his smile. “You’re very charming, you know that?”

“I know,” Malfoy says, sounding pleased. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I got the message and dinner at seven sounds lovely. What should I wear?”

“I dunno. Whatever you usually wear on dates, I guess.”

Malfoy makes an exasperated noise. “But where are we _going_?”

“It’s a secret. And no, _not_ because I haven’t come up with a plan yet,” Harry adds before Malfoy can question him. “It’s just a regular secret.”

“That’s still not helpful, Potter.”

“Just dress nice. Don’t rent a tuxedo or anything, but like, nice.”

“As if I’d need to _rent_ a tuxedo,” Malfoy sniffs. “Fine. Nice it is. But if I look like a complete idiot, that’s on you.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not even possible,” Harry mutters, tugging idly at a foamy curl on his forehead.

“What was that, Potter?”

“Nothing, sorry.”

“No it’s not. It sounded like a compliment,” Malfoy presses. “If it’s a compliment I want to hear it.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Only if it’s a compliment?”

“Yes. If it’s not then I don’t really care.”

Harry laughs. “I’ll tell you when I see you. Fair?”

“Fine,” Malfoy concedes. “You’ll be picking me up at seven, then?”

“Yeah.”

“All right. I’ll see you then, Potter.”

“Yeah, see you then.”

Harry puts his phone back on the counter and retreats back into the shower. He turns the water back on to finally rinse the shampoo out of his hair, humming _Firecall Me Perhaps_.

Two minutes later he pounds his fist into the shower wall, curses at himself, and once again shuts off the water and reaches for his phone. It only rings once.

“Yes, Potter?”

“Hey, uh. Where do you live?”

 

***

 

When Draco answers the door at exactly seven o’clock, Harry could swear his heart almost starts beating again.

He looks amazing, all dark colours and sharp lines, and he smiles nervously at Harry. It takes Harry a second to return it, busy as he is with gaping, but after a few seconds he manages to shake himself and smile back at Draco.

“Draco, you look… Wow. You look incredible.”

“Thank you,” Draco says, his smile brightening and some of his nerves appearing to fade. “So I don’t look like a complete idiot after all, then?”

“Not one bit. And, er. What I said on the phone earlier? Was that I’m pretty sure that’s not even possible,” Harry says, instinctively glancing away and then forcing himself to make eye contact again despite how flustered he is. “You’re always gorgeous.”

Draco’s smile somehow grows even warmer. Harry wonders if vampires can melt. “As are you. I know I give you a hard time, but you really…” Draco trails off with a wistful sigh and shake of his head. “You really are something, Harry. Anyway, shall we?”

Harry’s momentarily thrown off by the little jolt of joy he gets from Draco saying his name, but he recovers quickly. “Yeah, we’d better get going. I have a lot planned.”

“I’m ready to be impressed. No pressure,” Draco says, and Harry isn’t quite sure whether or not he’s joking.

Harry’s made reservations at the nicest, most expensive restaurant he could find in the Spello Pages. Their cloaks are checked at the door, there aren’t any prices on the menus, and Draco laughs at Harry when he asks why there aren’t any croutons on his salad.

“It’s probably for the best, honestly. Wouldn’t want to risk you chipping another fang,” he says with a smirk.

Harry makes a face at him that makes Draco laugh again, which in turn makes Harry smile. “I told you a million times, it was an _accident_.”

“Well, of course it was, Potter, I don’t expect you chipped a fang on _purpose_ ,” Draco says with a roll of his eyes, but then he leans in towards Harry a bit. “Seriously, though, how did it happen? How did you _accidentally_ bite a rock? I’ve been dying to know, but I didn’t want to be the kind of dentist who asks you questions while my hands are in your mouth.”

Harry likes Draco enough that he refrains from pointing out that Draco has, in fact, asked questions while his hands were in Harry’s mouth many, many times. “It’s not that interesting of a story, really,” Harry says with a sheepish shrug. “It’s mostly just embarrassing.”

Draco leans in even closer, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his palm. “Do tell.”

Somewhat reluctantly, Harry sighs and relents. “You know Hagrid’s rock cakes? Well, no, I s’pose you probably don’t,” he mumbles, scratching at his hair. He’s already embarrassed and he hasn’t even gotten to the actually embarrassing part yet, but Draco just shakes his head and gestures for him to continue. “See, Hagrid makes these little cakes that are, well. They’re practically rocks. Hardest ‘food’ I’ve ever tried to eat,” he says with air quotes.

“Anyway, me, Ron, and Hermione went to visit him a couple months ago, y’know, right before that second time I came in to see you? And there was this pile on the table, and Hagrid hadn’t come into the front room yet, and I just figured, might as well get a head start, he’s going to expect me to eat one and they’re so inedible that an early start couldn’t hurt, y’know?”

Draco’s eyes have grown impressively wide. Harry shrugs and looks away, embarrassed. “And you can probably figure out the rest.”

“No, finish the story. Please,” Draco insists, looking both horrified and thrilled. Harry sighs again, but is powerless to refuse.

“Okay, well. So I reach for one of the cakes and try to take a bite, and there’s just...pain. Like, there’s _always_ pain eating Hagrid’s rock cakes, but not _this_ bad. And a second later Hagrid comes in carrying a platter of steaming _actual_ rock cakes that he says he’s baked fresh just for us, and he apologizes for all the rocks he left all over the table, those are for the Blast-Ended Skrewt nest he’s going to build later.”

“Merlin, what did you _do_?”

“Well, I put my rock back on the table while his back was turned and pretended nothing happened and then afterwards I made Ron and Hermione swear to never tell anyone I was stupid enough to try and eat a literal fucking rock.” Harry pauses, then awkwardly finishes, “And, er, that’s it, I guess.”

Draco starts laughing. Harry can tell he’s trying to contain himself somewhat since they’re in the middle of a fancy restaurant, but he looks like he might start crying from it. His face turns red and he covers it with his hands. “Fucking _hell_ , Harry,” he manages between bouts of barely-stifled laughter. “You — oh my _god_. You are so ridiculously, marvellously _stupid_.”

Harry wrinkles his nose and shrugs. “Yeah, y’know, I wish I could argue with you, but in this particular instance I don’t really have a leg to stand on.”

“Oh, Harry.” Draco finally removes his hands from his still-pink face and reveals the biggest grin Harry’s ever seen on him. It softens slightly as he looks at Harry. “I don’t _actually_ think you’re stupid, just so you know.”

“Oh. Yeah, I figured.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, I mean.” Harry shrugs. “I do stupid shite sometimes, but I know I’m not stupid, and I figured you did too. And if you didn’t, then maybe you were the stupid one.”

Draco raises his eyebrows, looking a little incredulous but also vaguely pleased. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever called me stupid before, Potter.”

“Oh, I have. Many, many times. You just weren’t ever there.”

When their food arrives it’s almost delicious enough to make up for how soul-crushingly expensive it is. Draco proves to be just about the slowest eater alive, because he’s always either talking or disregarding his food and listening with rapt attention as Harry talks, and towards the end Harry has to hurry him along.

“What’s the big rush, Potter?” Draco demands as Harry drags him out of the restaurant. “I was still thinking about getting dessert.”

“We have somewhere to be. I told you, I’ve got a lot planned,” Harry reminds him. “We’ll get to dessert after, I promise.”

“All right,” Draco begrudges. “It had better be good, then. Where are we going now?”

“You’ll see. Come on.”

When they reach the theatre a few minutes later Draco stops in his tracks, staring up at its sign with his brow furrowed. “ _The Midnightingale’s Fruitful Lament_?” he says uncertainly. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“It’s an original. I’ve heard it’s very good.”

Draco shoots Harry a dubious look. “I’m not quite sure I believe that.”

Harry shrugs. “That’s fair. I’m not sure I believe it, either, but I _am_ sure it’s not going to be boring.”

Draco squints suspiciously at Harry, then back up at the theatre sign, then at Harry again. “Well, all right,” he says with a sigh. “But if it’s horrible then you owe me.”

“Deal.”

Their seats are right in the centre of the front row, and as they settle in Draco regards Harry with a thoughtful expression. “I see you’re better at paying attention than you used to be, Potter. A nice dinner _and_ front row seats at the theatre? I’m impressed.”

Harry laughs and rubs at his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, well, my friends’d probably say I’ve always paid a lot of attention when it comes to you.”

Draco’s expression shifts from _impressed_ into something not quite readable, and he reaches over and entwines his fingers with Harry’s as the lights dim above them. Harry’s stomach flips a little, and they smile at each other for a lingering moment before a single spotlight switches on and they turn to face the stage.

“Good evening, everyone,” Luna says serenely, her voice ringing through the theatre with a _Sonorous_ charm, “and welcome to opening night of my original stageplay, _The Midnightingale’s Fruitful Lament_.”

“Holy shit,” Draco gasps, squeezing Harry’s hand and leaning closer to hiss in his ear. “Is that _Lovegood_?”

“I told you it wouldn’t be boring,” Harry whispers back with a grin.

“We have two very special guests with us tonight,” Luna announces, and she looks right down at Harry and Draco and smiles. “I won’t say who, because I don’t want to embarrass them, but they’re on a date, and they’re right in the front row, because my friend who shan’t be named — let’s call him Larry — specially requested it in order to impress his date, who we’ll call...Layco.”

“Oh my god, that’s _us_!” Draco whispers to Harry, thumping their joined hands excitedly on the armrest between them.

“Anyway, I hope all of you enjoy the performance, but especially Larry and Layco. Without further ado, I present to you: _The Midnightingale’s Fruitful Lament_.”

Luna exits the stage to a smattering of applause from the somewhat sparse audience, and Draco leans in close to murmur in Harry’s ear again as the opening music begins to play. “So, by any chance, did it happen to be Lovegood who assured you that this was going to be good?”

“Shh, it’s starting.”

The curtain opens on a confusingly tall man dressed only in a loincloth and leg warmers, who promptly begins to sing. Draco is fucking delighted.

The rest of the show proceeds in much the same manner: bizarre costumes on bizarre performers, loud songs in minor keys with lyrics that make no sense, everything you’d expect from a Luna Lovegood production. By the time the final curtain falls, Harry still has no idea what the musical’s supposed to be about, but Draco hasn’t stopped smiling since it started and is now giving a passionate standing ovation, so he feels like this is a major win. He’s going to have to send Luna, like, eighty bouquets of trellumpetines or something to thank her for this.

“Harry, that was fucking _incredible_ ,” Draco gushes as they exit the theatre hand in hand. “Merlin. I can’t believe we got to see the first performance of it, ever. Think of the bragging rights we’ll have when it goes big on Broomway!”

“Totally,” Harry agrees, though he doesn’t really have a clue what kinds of productions go big on Broomway, usually. He squeezes Draco’s hand and smiles at him. “I’m really glad you liked it so much.”

“Yes, well, of course I did. It was _art_ ,” Draco says, almost reverently. “How did _you_ like it?”

Harry, who spent most of the past two hours watching Draco out of the corner of his eye, tries to wrack his brain for any part of the musical that he actually saw. “Oh, yeah, it was great,” he says, hoping he sounds convincing. “I especially liked the, er. The song about the extinction of prindlebeasts.”

“Really?” Draco makes a face, and Harry suddenly realizes why he remembers that part, specifically: It’s because Draco was making that same face, and Harry looked up to see why. Fuck. “I mean, it was deep, certainly, but it was probably the most poorly executed part of the production. Frilhelmina did beautifully in all her other numbers, but she did _not_ have the range for that particular piece.”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Harry protests, even though he _knows_ Draco would know better than him on the subject. “She did great overall, right? She’s obviously really talented.”

“I don’t care! She doesn’t have the range!”

Harry heaves an exaggerated sigh and rolls his eyes. “See, Draco, it’s things like this that make it hard for me to believe you’re _not that picky_ ,” he says with air quotes with the hand that’s not holding Draco’s.

“It’s not being picky if it’s correct,” Draco sniffs.

Harry laughs and shakes his head. “You’re kind of impossible.”

“I know,” Draco says airily. As they walk past the fountain outside of the theatre he suddenly stops, and Harry lurches a bit ahead in surprise, but Draco quickly pulls him back around. “Potter, wait a moment.”

Harry turns to face Draco questioningly, and the next thing he knows Draco is throwing his arms around his neck and kissing him.

Harry’s stunned for a moment, but as soon as his brain catches up to what’s happening he brings his arms up to wrap around Draco’s waist and draw him in closer. Draco tightens his arms around Harry’s neck and tilts his head to kiss him deeper, and this is, without a doubt, the best kiss Harry’s ever had in his life and unlife combined.

When they pull back they’re both a little short of breath and Draco’s eyes are shining and he’s smiling like this might’ve been the best kiss of his life too. Harry beams back at him and leans back in until their noses bump gently.

“So, I’m definitely not complaining, but I thought you were a more of an after-the-first-date sort? We aren’t done yet, you know.”

“Yes, well.” Draco laughs a little and smooths his fingers over Harry’s collar. “My friends would probably say I’ve always been a little impatient when it comes to you.”

Harry grins and can’t resist leaning in to kiss Draco again. Draco hums happily, but a few seconds later he pulls away enough to add, “Also, I figured this was a more romantic spot for a first kiss than your kitchen.”

“My…” Harry’s brow furrows. “My kitchen? How’d you — ”

“Educated guess, Potter,” Draco says, looking incredibly smug. “You followed my first two suggestions to the letter, so it seemed safe to presume you’d round it out.”

Harry huffs, a little embarrassed. “Well. All right, yeah. It was supposed to be a surprise, but… Oh well. I was still sort of trying to figure out a non-creepy way to ask you back to mine, so I guess this works.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “If you think I’d have said anything but _Yes please_ to you wanting to take me home at any point in, oh, I don’t know, the past ten years, then you’re even blinder than I thought.”

Harry’s jaw drops. “ _Ten years_?”

“Don’t dwell on it too much,” Draco says dismissively, and unwraps his arms from Harry’s shoulders to link their arms together instead. “Shall we?”

“Uh, yeah.” Still a little flustered, Harry shakes himself and takes a deep breath, then Apparates the two of them into his kitchen with an unpleasant lurch that doesn’t seem to affect Draco at all.

“So this is where you live,” Draco observes, glancing around the kitchen, then poking his head out into the living room, which is practically all there is of Harry’s tiny flat.

“Yeah, it’s, y’know. Not a mansion,” Harry says with an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I like it.”

“I do, too,” Draco says, to Harry’s surprise. “Clean but cosy. It’s nice.”

Harry thinks maybe it’s best not to mention that it’s only clean because he spent the entire day cleaning up all the books and bloodmalt to-go cups that had previously covered most exposed surfaces. “Uh, thanks. Yeah.”

Draco turns back to face Harry and claps his hands together, a look of eager anticipation on his face. “So let’s have it, then.”

“Er, right.” Harry’s stomach churns anxiously. He gestures to his tiny kitchen table, and as Draco seats himself Harry crosses the kitchen and opens his freezer. There it is, the custom ice cream flavour he paid an obscene amount of money to have rush ordered by wizarding Britain’s most high-class ice cream manufacturer. He pulls it out and tries not to drop it as he turns back around and presents it to Draco.

Draco’s jaw drops. He reaches out to delicately take the carton from Harry. “ _Sparkling Serpent_ ,” he reads off the label, looking back up at Harry with wide eyes.

“Yeah, I, um. I probably could’ve come up with something a little more clever if I’d had more time, but, well, I’m not the most creative bloke,” Harry says, scrubbing a hand through his hair self-consciously.

But Draco just shakes his head and smiles. “I love it. What’s the flavour?” he asks as he removes the lid and reveals shimmery silver. “It doesn’t say.”

Harry pulls two spoons out of a drawer and offers one to Draco with a hopeful smile. “Try it and see.”

“Normally I would make you tell me before I'd go anywhere near it, you know,” Draco says, even as he takes the spoon, “but you haven’t let me down so far, so I suppose I’ll trust you on this as well.”

Oh, god. No fucking pressure. Harry smiles reassuringly — though whether he’s attempting to reassure Draco or himself, he’s not sure — and sits down next to him. He’s not sure he’ll be able to eat any ice cream himself, considering all the butterflies that apparently just fucking live in his stomach now.

Draco scoops up a delicate spoonful of the silver ice cream, studies it for a moment, and puts it in his mouth. His expression remains unchanged for a couple of seconds — oh god oh god Harry is going to _strangle_ Donnie from Sales and Custom Commissions if he’s ended up with plain fucking vanilla — but then Draco’s eyes grow wider than Harry’s ever seen them as he swallows.

“It — It tastes like...Quidditch.”

Relief floods through Harry. “Take another bite,” he urges.

Draco does so, and his expression is filled with wonder. “All right, not just Quidditch. It tastes like…” Draco’s brow furrows like he can’t believe it. “It tastes like catching the Snitch playing against _you_.”

Harry is going to send Donnie from Sales and Custom Commissions the biggest, most expensive gift basket he can possibly find. “Do you like it?”

“ _Like_ it? It’s fucking — Harry, this is the best fucking thing I’ve ever tasted. I just — ” Draco cuts himself off and leans over to kiss Harry with gusto. _Two_ gift baskets, he’ll send. Two gift baskets and the world’s largest cake.

When Draco pulls back he’s beaming, and it’s arguably the most beautiful sight Harry’s ever seen. “You’re a little bit magnificent, Potter.”

Harry ducks his head slightly, flustered but not willing to take his eyes off Draco. “I’m, um, glad you think so.”

Draco takes one more bite of the ice cream and sighs blissfully, then sets his spoon down and turns to Harry. He reaches up and weaves his elegant fingers into Harry’s hair before leaning in to kiss him again, longer and deeper. Harry automatically scoots his chair closer to Draco’s so he can lean into it too, putting his hands on Draco’s waist and cheek.

It’s a few minutes before Harry regains enough presence of mind to draw back a bit. “So, like — again, _super_ not complaining, but — the ice cream’s going to melt…”

Practically before he’s finished saying it, Draco has pulled a hand out of Harry’s hair and is waving it in the direction of the freezer. The door flies open, the carton of Sparkling Serpent floats up off the table and into the freezer, and the door swings shut.

“Okay, yeah,” Harry says, and kisses Draco again.

 

***

 

“Dr. Malfoy, good to see you.”

“Welcome back, Potter. I do hope you’ve been taking better care of your fangs these past three months since your last appointment.”

“Yeah, you know, my boyfriend’s a real pain in the arse about brushing and flossing, so I’m probably doing all right. By the way, you left this at mine last night,” Harry says, grinning and tossing Draco’s tie at him.

Draco catches it easily and rolls his eyes. “Thanks, but you could have just put it in my drawer, you know.”

“Wait, you have a drawer at my place?”

“Of course I do,” Draco says like Harry should know this as he puts on his gloves and mask. “All right. I’ll try to make this quick. Merlin knows there are other things I’d rather be putting in your mouth.”

True to his word, Draco’s finished with the cleaning in no time at all, but goes over to his cabinets and takes out an unpleasantly familiar bottle, and Harry groans.

“Do we _really_ have to do the Fang Formula again? I won’t bite any more rocks, I _promise_.”

“Fang Fortification Formula. And yes.” Draco looks mysteriously antsy as he unscrews the bottle and dips a brush into the paste. “Now open tall.”

Harry heaves a sigh, but obeys, knowing there’s no arguing with Draco when it comes to nonhuman humanoid dental care. Draco withdraws the brush from the bottle, and Harry barely has time to notice the paste is a different colour than last time before Draco’s applying it to his fangs. It tastes different, too. It tastes... _good_.

“Holy thit, ith thith…?”

“B negative?” Draco says nonchalantly, but Harry can see the excitement in his eyes. “Why, yes, it is.” He finishes with the paste and puts it away. Then he gives up on holding back his smile, and it’s brilliant. “It took me a while to get it right, since I couldn’t taste test it myself, and obviously I couldn’t add _actual_ B negative to it, that would defeat the purpose of the cleaning. But — well, did I get it right?” he asks, looking a little anxious now.

“Draco, you fucking nailed it,” Harry assures him, awed. “Merlin, that’s amazing. You’re a bloody genius. Er, pun not intended.”

“True,” Draco preens. “I wouldn’t do this for just anyone, you know. You’re very lucky you’re sleeping with the dentist.”

Harry laughs. “Oh, I know I am.” He stands up and kisses Draco, and Draco wraps his arms tightly around Harry and sighs against his lips. After a few seconds Harry pulls back and leans his forehead against Draco’s, smiling happily.

“I love you.”

“I know, Potter.”

**Author's Note:**

> i will probably make some minor changes to this (just like, wording and shit) over the next week or so because i never feel like i'm 100% done and satisfied but it'll still be like. basically this. but just so u know i guess
> 
> hope you enjoyed!! find me on my [current social media](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glamourtentia/profile) if you want. god bless drarry


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